


Two's Days of Christmas

by Eggling



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M, Secret Santa Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggling/pseuds/Eggling
Summary: Twelve Christmassy one-shots.





	Two's Days of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> for [keatulie](keatulie.tumblr.com).

**A partridge in a pear tree**

“Blimey, is that what I think it is?”

The Doctor peered at the bird. It stared back at him with the most disinterest Jamie had ever seen a bird manage to convey, letting out a little trill and turning away with a ruffle of its feathers. “Yes, I rather think it is, Ben.”

“You don’t expect us to believe we’d just happen to land somewhere where there’s a partridge in a pear tree, do you?” Polly said disbelievingly. She reached out as if to touch the bird, and the Doctor gave a little cry of alarm.

“Polly, don’t touch it!” Polly snatched her arm away, her eyes wide. “I think this place is a sort of – a sort of park full of holiday symbols. You know, Christmas trees, pumpkins, that sort of thing.”

Neither of those things suggested holidays to Jamie, but the others were nodding as if they understood, so he did the same almost automatically. He glanced around the park, looking for some sort of explanation, but nothing seemed familiar. The Doctor set off down a path seemingly at random, gesturing for them to follow, and Ben turned to shrug at Polly before heading after him.

“What’s that one for, then?” Jamie asked, gesturing back at the partridge.

“Well, you know – oh, of course!” Polly burst out laughing. Had it been anyone else – had it been Ben, or even the Doctor – Jamie would have been upset by that, but he could not bring himself to be angry at Polly. “It’s from a Christmas carol.”

“Oh.” Jamie thought it over for a moment. “About wee birds?”

“Not exactly.” Polly took his arm, pulling him along to catch up with the others. “It goes like this...”

**Two turtle doves**

“Polly?”

The sound of Jamie’s voice startled Polly, almost making her drop the cup of tea she was carrying. Turning, she saw him sitting in a corner, a pen and a piece of paper in his hands and a frustrated expression on his face.

“Writing lessons?” she asked sympathetically.

“No’ exactly. What sort of animal do ye think is charming?”

“What?” Polly moved over to take the paper from him. “Why do you ask?”

“Ben told me the Doctor might like a poem, and I thought it couldnae hurt.” Jamie buried his face in his hands. “Och, it’s silly.”

Polly was on the verge of telling him that Ben had probably been teasing him again when she saw the first line. “And I suppose he gave you a bit of help, did he?”

“Just a wee bit. Is there something wrong with it?”

The Doctor might have been vain, but Polly hardly thought being compared to a goddess of love was his style. Still, if it came from Jamie, he would probably be thrilled anyway. “Nothing,” she lied, fighting a smile. “I just recognised his handwriting, that’s all.” She handed the paper back. “Turtle doves.”

“Eh?”

“For your charming animal. I’ve always thought they were sweet.”

“Oh, aye.” Jamie scrawled something barely legible on the paper, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. “Thanks, Polly.”

“You’re welcome.”

Only when she was safely back in her own room, book in hand and far out of Jamie’s earshot, did she allow herself to break down into giggles.

**Three French hens**

Ben scowled down at the mud, doing his best to step around it. Polly followed in his footsteps a little nervously, picking her way across the slippery cobblestones almost delicately.

“I’m not saying everywhere we go has to be peaceful,” he began. The Doctor glanced over at him, fingers still dancing over the surface of his recorder as if he wasn’t listening. “I’m just sayin’, isn’t Paris meant to be romantic or something?”

“It’s no’ so bad,” Jamie put in mildly. Ben looked him over, clothes dirtied and straw sticking out of his hair, and was on the verge of commenting when he remembered what sort of state Jamie had been in when they first found him. The Doctor paused at last in his recorder playing to look at Jamie too, apparently coming to the same conclusion as Ben, and reached over to wipe a spot of something slimy, fluorescent green, and decidedly alien off Jamie’s cheek with his handkerchief.

“I just think it’d be nice if we could land somewhere where there weren’t people trying to kill us, that’s all!”

Polly shrugged at him, as if to point out that the Doctor was hardly paying attention, carefully picking out notes on his recorder. A few passers-by gave him odd looks, but he seemed not to notice. Any attempt Ben might have made at continuing his tirade was interrupted by the Doctor colliding with a gate, stopping to stare down at it in almost comical confusion before he continued walking. The gate swung open behind him, and Ben found himself almost bowled over by a rush of newly-liberated chickens, clucking madly and dashing in all directions. He sighed heavily.

“Even if there wasn’t anything trying to kill us, the Doctor would still find a way to get us into trouble,” Polly pointed out.

Lost in the middle of eighteenth-century Paris, covered in alien slime, and swarmed by hens, Ben could not help but agree with her.

**Four calling birds**

“Doctor?”

There was no answer, but Jamie could have sworn he heard footsteps a moment before, and pushed the door open anyway. Sure enough, there was the Doctor, looking incongruously solid amongst rows of delicate glass clocks. Jamie peered at the one nearest to him, a great, swirling crystal tower, a plaque at its base inscribed with gold writing. _Dodo_. The Doctor had once told him that was the name of a type of extinct bird, but he could not fathom why anyone would want to write it on a clock.

As he reached out towards it, a little hatch in the front opened, revealing a tiny, wooden bird, which opened its beak as if it were alive – and let out a call like a real bird, of all things. Down the corridor, two or three more were chirping away happily. Jamie snatched his hand away, leaping back and almost crashing into the shelf behind him.

The Doctor was at his side in a moment, steadying him. “Is it – is it magic?” Jamie asked, eyes still wide from the shock.

“Not magic, no. Just a cuckoo clock.” The Doctor examined the hands on the clock that had so startled Jamie. “Hmm. Midnight in London, I should think. Christmas day.”

“Is it?” Jamie glanced around, as if the city should loom out of the corners of the room.

“Not for us, but for Dodo it will be.”

“Was that someone ye travelled with?” Jamie glanced at the other clocks, registering the names for the first time. _Steven, Vicki, Ian, Barbara._

The Doctor gave him an odd look, as if weighing him up against something. “Yes, I travelled with her. These are all the people I’ve – I’ve left behind.”

One – no, two of the clocks were unmoving. A shiver passed along Jamie’s spine. “Will I have one of these clocks, one day?”

“Perhaps.” The Doctor wandered back down the corridor, reaching out to touch the nameplate on the clock he had been watching before. _Susan_. He sighed, fingers lingering there for a long moment, before turning and taking Jamie by the elbow. “Dwelling on the past does nobody any good, you know.”

**Five gold rings**

The glint of gold in the window caught Jamie’s eye as he passed it, turning his head. It took a moment for him to realise that he had stopped, the Doctor and Victoria walking along without him, talking animatedly. He hardly noticed them go, transfixed by the display. Necklaces and bracelets and earrings set with some midnight blue stone, flecked with gold and silver like stars – but it was the ring that caught his attention.

He had no money with which to buy it, much less any idea of how to go about giving it to the Doctor – let alone asking the Doctor to marry him. He was not even sure that the Doctor’s people had any concept of marriage, or whether or not the Doctor would want to marry him. But there it was, and there _he_ was, standing at a shop window and thinking how perfect the ring would be, stuck with some ridiculous notion that they should do things properly, and that it would mean something.

“Come along, Jamie!”

He looked up just in time to see the Doctor and Victoria vanishing around a street corner, and hurried after them, casting one wistful look back at the jewellery shop before pushing the incident – and all thoughts of himself and the Doctor standing at an altar – out of his mind.

**Six geese a-laying**

“Oh, aren’t you a handsome fellow?”

Victoria giggled at the sight of the Doctor crouched down, holding his hand out to a large and thoroughly unimpressed bird. “What if he bites you?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” the Doctor assured her. “Would you? No, you’re perfectly lovely, aren’t you, Archibald?”

“Archibald?”

“Mm. That’s his name.” The Doctor straightened up, taking her hand to lead her away.

“He reminds me of Christmas dinner,” Victoria confessed. “That’s the last time I saw a goose.” The Doctor gave her a mock-scandalised look.

“You mustn’t say that in front of Archibald,” he reprimanded her playfully. “I don’t suppose you would ever have been to a farm like this, would you?”

“Not one quite so...” Victoria glanced around her, instinctively grasping at the fabric of her minidress as if to keep a long hem from dragging in the mud. “Rustic.” She sighed. The place would have been pleasant if there was no threat of an alien invasion hanging over them.

“Yes, quite,” the Doctor murmured, making her jump. “It’s a pity we don’t have more time, isn’t it, my dear?” When she frowned at him, trying to understand how he could have known what she was thinking, he simply chuckled and squeezed her hand.

“The farmhouse is this way,” was all he said.

**Seven swans a-swimming**

Jamie tore a piece of bread away from the slice absently, only realising what he was doing when the Doctor slapped his hand away from his mouth.

“It’s for the swans,” he scolded, throwing his own piece into the water in illustration. “Not for us.” Jamie shrugged, sneaking another piece as soon as the Doctor looked away. “Oh, you -”

“I havenae had lunch,” Jamie protested. “Ye promised me a picnic. And it’s cold out here.”

The Doctor ignored him, seeming to realise he was fighting a losing battle. “Aren’t they magnificent,” he murmured instead, nodding at the swan that had floated closer to snap up the bread.

Most of the time, these words accompanied some new gadget or discovery, something that, try as he might, Jamie could not appreciate in the same way. But he had to agree with the Doctor this time, looking out across the half-frozen pond at the swans, almost invisible against the snowy hills and cloudy sky. Spindly, black branches dipped into the water, their leaves long since fallen. Some of the fresh snow had settled in the Doctor’s hair, and Jamie reached over to brush it out.

“Are ye sure you’re not cold?” he asked a little anxiously.

“Quite sure. This coat’s really rather nice and warm.” The Doctor smirked. “What sort of state are your knees in?”

Jamie pulled his socks a little higher as surreptitiously as he could. “Fine.” He paused. He had to avoid looking too eager, after all. “Don’t ye need something warm in there first?”

“Oh, very well.” The Doctor slipped one arm out of its sleeve and held the loose end of his coat out to Jamie. “Come on, then.” Casting aside his earlier attempt at subtlety, Jamie hurriedly enfolded himself in the coat, wrapping his arms around the Doctor’s waist, the Doctor pulling it closed around them. “Oh! Oh, my word. Your hands are cold.”

“Are they?” Jamie slipped his fingers just a little way up the Doctor’s shirt to make him squeak again. “I cannae feel much of anything.”

“I did tell you to bring a jumper.”

“Don’t you start.”

**Eight maids a-milking**

The Doctor looked up from his meal-package – vacuum-packed Martian tubers and some sort of artificially synthesised meat substitute, perfectly adequate, if a little bland – and closed his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for a struggle. Jamie and Victoria were exchanging dubious looks over their own trays, Jamie’s mixed around a little as if he had been toying with it, Victoria’s still in neat cubes.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he coaxed.

“It’s – it’s -” Jamie stabbed at his meal with the plastic fork.

“Beige,” Victoria put in mournfully. 

“Aye.”

“Don’t you ever miss real food, Doctor?”

The Doctor stared down at his own tray. He never understood the objection some humans seemed to have against the sort of food that was convenient for long-distance spaceflight. It was efficient, and hardly as unpalatable as they seemed to think. But something about this had put off even Jamie’s normally insatiable appetite, fed by a lifetime of famine and war rations.

“Why can’t we land somewhere where they give us a nice, home-cooked meal, just for once?” Jamie shoved his tray away from him. “With – with roast beef, and potatoes, and...”

“Fresh fruit!”

“Tattie scones!”

“Just a nice glass of milk!”

“Can’t you get those things from the food machine in the TARDIS?” The Doctor looked between them in growing confusion.

“Aye, but it might be days before we have a chance to.”

“Well, it’s the best we’ve got at the moment, I’m afraid.” The Doctor pushed Jamie’s tray back towards him. “Eat up, everyone.”

Victoria cast a despairing glance at the drooping tinsel hanging from the cold metal walls. “Some Christmas dinner this is.”

**Nine ladies dancing**

“An’ - careful now, don’t twist my arm – there.”

“Splendid!”

Jamie grinned a little self-consciously at the Doctor’s round of applause. “Can ye remember all that?”

“Oh, yes, it’s quite simple.” Zoe let go of his hands to step across the floor, mimicking a few of the movements. She turned, looking him up and down. “I wouldn’t have thought _you_ knew how to dance like that.”

“Polly taught -” Jamie froze for a moment, as if the memory had caught in his throat. “An old friend of ours taught me how.” Something sad flickered in his eyes, but it was gone in a moment. “Now ye can impress the next pretty lassie we meet at a dance.”

“Oh, shut up, Jamie.” Colour flared into Zoe’s cheeks. “I wasn’t trying to impress her.”

“If ye say so.”

“Anyway, I suppose you only learnt to show off to the Doctor, so you’re a fine one to talk -”

The Doctor cleared his throat, rising from his chair and holding out his hand to Zoe. “Perhaps you’d, ah, like to show me the steps?”

“He’ll tread on your feet,” Jamie warned. “And mix up the steps and insist that he’s right.”

“I do _not_.”

“I dinnae mind, though.” Zoe made a face as Jamie leant over to kiss the Doctor’s cheek.

“I’ll be the judge of all that,” she said, pulling the Doctor away across the floor with her.

**Ten lords a-leaping**

“Is this really necessary?” the Doctor protested, slapping at the guards’ hands rather ineffectively. “Don’t _push_ me!” He came to a defeated halt before the corridor of hot stones, wringing his hands.

“Our apologies, Doctor.” The High Minister’s voice rang out across the room, making Jamie jump back and clutch at Zoe’s shoulder nervously. “But to be present at a meeting of the sacred council, one must undergo the ritual. It is our law.”

“Yes, I’m quite aware of that,” the Doctor muttered darkly. “Can’t you at least cool it off a bit? I’m not so heat-resistant as you are!” No reply came from the speakers, and the Doctor was shoved forwards roughly. “Alright, alright. No need to rush me.” He bent down to remove his shoes and socks reluctantly, still scowling.

At last, he could delay no longer, and reached out one foot tentatively, as if testing the water in a bath. As soon as he made contact with one of the stones, he sprang backwards with an alarmed ‘ooh’, quickly followed by a sad whimper.

“You don’t really expect me to cross that, do you?”

Still no answer came, and he had no choice but to set off again, stepping gingerly over the few stones that were not yet glowing, occasionally brushing against a hot surface with an ‘ouch!’ and a little jump. By the time he reached the end, his feet were stinging almost too much for him to stand properly, and he muttered about barbaric traditions and archaic laws, rocking back on his heels.

“Won’t be long!” he managed, waving back to Jamie and Zoe. “You two go and keep out of trouble. Oh, and don’t visit any of the restaurants!”

Zoe looked at Jamie quizzically, but he simply shrugged. “Should we take his shoes?” she tried instead.

“Aye, I suppose so. He’ll only complain more if he loses them.”

**Eleven pipers piping**

“Having fun?”

Jamie collapsed into a chair next to the Doctor, sighing with relief and letting the set of pipes he had been carrying fall onto the table. “Aye, they’re no’ so difficult once you’ve figured out the notes.”

“That’s the Varyllian ambassador’s chair,” the Doctor pointed out, nodding towards the card in front of the ambassador’s plate.

“Hmm? Oh, so it is.”

“And he’s due back from his meeting with the assassins in -” the Doctor checked his watch. “Two minutes. And I doubt he’ll be particularly pleased to find you sitting there.”

Jamie sprung up as if burnt. “Is he the one trying tae kill the princess, then?”

“No, he’s trying to kill the king of Xellion, who’s currently engaged in an attempt to poison the Iquirellian emperor, who mysteriously couldn’t make it tonight but sent a representative to kill the princess’ would-be murderer. Do keep up.”

“Oh, aye.” Jamie was caught off-guard by the Doctor’s sudden tugging at his waist, pulling him down to sprawl into his lap. “I’ll only squash ye.”

“But you’re lovely and warm,” the Doctor insisted, pulling him closer, the plaintive note in his voice making Jamie laugh.

“Aye, alright. I’m not meant to be here, though, I should be with the other musicians. We’re no’ even meant to eat in the hall.”

“You’re entitled to be here as my _husband_ , though.” The Doctor paused, leaning against him. “I know this isn’t, ah, quite your comfort zone, Jamie.”

“’m alright.” Jamie shrugged, but nodded towards the intimidating array of cutlery laid out before them. “All this fancy stuff doesnae suit me. Nor you,” he added, reaching up to flatten a stray strand of the Doctor’s hair against his head.

“Don’t you ever wish you could go home?”

“I’ll be glad to get back to the TARDIS when all this is over,” Jamie admitted.

“No, no… back home. To your own time.”

“Oh.” Jamie looked around the hall, considering. Some of it was familiar – the bright colours and the high wooden ceiling, a perfect replica of castles and manors back on earth. But the banners along the walls were flickering and moving – holograms, the Doctor called them – the people dressed oddly, spaceships parked in the distance just visible through the windows. Even those things which were close to his own time, the great Christmas trees adorning the corner, the lights strung from the beams above, still seemed foreign to him. “I miss it.” He smiled a little ruefully at the pipes on the table. “Not even the pipes sound the same here. I’d go back, but I wouldnae stay.”

The Doctor remained quiet, but Jamie could hardly miss the flash of relief in his eyes as he turned to search his face, nor the way he relaxed back against him. “Hey.” He twisted around so they faced each other, bringing one hand up to cup the Doctor’s cheek. “I’m no’ going anywhere.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were, I was just -” The Doctor’s eyes softened. “I know, Jamie.”

**Twelve drummers drumming**

“I still dinnae get all this fuss about Christmas,” Jamie complained, tugging at his sleeve. “And we look daft.”

Zoe nodded. “We even had a sort of Christmas on the Wheel, but we never did anything like this. Are you sure this is a real Christmas tradition, Doctor?”

“Of course I’m sure!” The Doctor brushed a speck of dust off his coat. “Are we all ready?” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed out of the TARDIS doors, leaving Jamie and Zoe to follow him into a snow-dusted street.

Trying to ignore the small crowd of people nearby giving them odd looks, Jamie reached up to adjust his antlers a little self-consciously. His hand collided with his nose, and he sighed. “Reindeer don’t have red noses like this, Doctor.”

“But -” The Doctor looked at him pleadingly. “But you’re not just any reindeer, you’re Rudolph. I thought you agreed that we’d have matching costumes.”

Zoe looked up from examining the invitation. “It doesn’t say here that it’s a costume party, Doctor.”

The Doctor huffed, snatching it from her. “Christmas parties _should_ be costume parties. Anyway, I expect the Brigadier forgot to write it on there.”

Glancing down at her elf costume doubtfully, Zoe shook her head. “I’m going back to the TARDIS to change.”

For a moment, Jamie hesitated, considering following her. But the Doctor was pouting at him, looking for all the world like a sad child, somehow managing to project the impression that if Jamie changed out of his costume too, his heart would be terribly, irreparably broken. And besides, Jamie told himself, he could hardly leave the Doctor to suffer the humiliation of being the only one with a daft costume. UNIT already thought they were both mad, surely.

“Och, fine.” He reached over to tug the Doctor’s false beard away from his mouth and kiss him. “I thought ye said this Santa Claus fellow was meant tae be happy, ye cannae look like that.”

“That’s the spirit,” the Doctor said cheerfully, a smile spreading across his face as quickly as it had vanished. “You make a lovely Rudolph.”

“I’m no’ sure what to think about that.”

“Doctor!” The not of outrage in Zoe’s voice made the Doctor and Jamie startle, turning to face her. At the sight of her new clothes, they dissolved into laughter, deepening her scowl.

“How did everything in my wardrobe manage to turn into – into _this_?” She gestured at her fancy jacket, dripping with gold braid, and the drum strapped around her middle.

“You’re a toy soldier,” the Doctor explained, somehow managing to compose himself into a picture of perfect innocence. “We’re going to deliver you to – to – oh. Oh, dear.” He started laughing again, and Zoe pushed past him, arms folded and chin held high.

“Maybe ye should have wrapped her up instead, tae stop her complaining,” Jamie stage-whispered to the Doctor, smirking at Zoe’s harrumph of annoyance. “Christmas cannae be that bad, I suppose.”

“No, it’s not.” The Doctor squeezed his hand, his laughter finally dying away. “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

“Merry Christmas, Doctor.”


End file.
